


Voices Dying With a Dying Fall

by 27dragons



Series: The Love Song of J. Buchanan Barnes [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Bondage, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Safeword Use, Sub Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 23:35:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3429665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I could've <em>helped</em>," Bucky said again, helplessness spiraling toward anger. "Another pair of eyes on the scene, I could have--" He bit off his next words and crouched, grabbing at his hair with both hands. "He shouldn't be hurt."</p>
<p>Steve knelt next to him, put a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "I didn't know you two had gotten close," he said helplessly.</p>
<p>Bucky's whole body rippled in a shiver. "Not... close. Just. He's got no serum. No armor. No magic or-- Why should he go out there, risk everything like that, and I'm safe at home with all <em>this</em>?" He yanked at his hair -- the left hand pulled out a few strands -- and then looked down at his hands. "It should have been me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voices Dying With a Dying Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [骤沉渐消](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4740623) by [hamLock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamLock/pseuds/hamLock)



Steve shifted in the uncomfortable hospital chair -- every time this happened, he got a little closer to asking Tony to earmark a donation for visitors' furniture -- and looked at Clint over the top of his tablet. The archer still hadn't moved, though the doctor had said Clint's injuries weren't especially severe. Well, not severe for Clint, anyway.

Steve sighed and went back to his tablet. He wasn't really reading his book, but it gave him something to look at besides Clint, who always looked entirely too frail when unconscious. When the door opened, Steve looked up quickly, thankful for the distraction.

"Morning, Cap. How's the flightless wonder?" Tony had managed to shower and shave and change his clothes since yesterday's battle, but his eyes were hidden behind tinted glasses and there was a jerkiness to the way he moved that made Steve think he'd ignored all suggestions that he get some sleep before he came back to the hospital.

"Still out, but he twitched a little about an hour ago, so they think he's moved up into normal sleep. If he's not awake by mid-morning, they're going to run a scan." Steve watched Tony edge slowly toward Clint's bedside, almost stealthily, as if he expected someone might pop up and shoo him away.

Tony examined the readouts on the monitors. "Asshole," he muttered at Clint. "Why won't you wear the fucking helmet I made you, if you're going to pull this bullshit?"

Steve pretended not to have heard; Tony hated it when anyone saw him worried. "Did you get any sleep?"

Tony shrugged. "A little. There was the press gauntlet to run and then some critical damage to the armor I had to repair. But I got a nap, and coffee, and that's almost like sleep." He gestured impatiently at Steve. "Come on, get out of my spot, Twinkletoes. I'm dying to find out how many of my vertebrae will end up misaligned from sleeping in this one."

Steve grinned and rolled to his feet. "I was just thinking that we should get some more comfortable furniture in here."

"No, nope, no way, that is a terrible idea, Rogers." Tony dropped into the chair and sprawled like a teenager. "If the furniture is comfortable, then we can't use our aches and pains to pile on the guilt for whoever was dumb enough to get hurt."

Steve laughed. "I'm not sure that's worth it."

"Go on, scram, before Lamont Cranston out there starts spooking the candystripers."

Steve's eyebrows climbed. "Who?"

Tony frowned up at Steve. "C'mon, I was being nice; _The Shadow_ was right around your time."

"I know who Lamont Cranston is, Tony. I'm not sure who you're applying it to."

"I just told--" Tony's eyes rolled up and to the left like they did when he was replaying something in his head. "Oops. Meant to lead with it and forgot." He tugged off his glasses and pressed his fingers into bruise-colored eyelids. "So, uh, Bucky bummed a ride over with me."

Steve blinked in surprise. "Bucky hates hospitals."

"I remember," Tony said drily. "But he popped into the tower for breakfast and was pretty insistent on wanting to come with me. Then when we got here, he stalled out and couldn't get on the elevator, so I told him I'd send you down for him. You should scoot."

Steve reached for the doorknob, then glanced back at Tony. "He was okay, though? Up until the elevator?" Bucky hated cars almost as much as he hated hospitals.

Tony grinned. "Didn't say a single word on the ride over, but he managed not to rip the car door off its hinges, so we're calling it a win. Go get 'em, tiger."

"Yeah," Steve said. "I'd better get down there. You'll text when Clint wakes up?"

"Assuming my hands haven't gone numb from whatever this horrible chair is doing to my spine, sure."

Steve would've normally said something sarcastic back, but he was already halfway out the door.

He ran down the stairs, because that was faster than waiting on an elevator that had to move slowly and smoothly enough for the sick and injured. He pushed through the stairwell door and immediately spotted Bucky, pacing up and down the short stretch of hall across from the elevators.

His metal arm was folded across his torso and tucked under the opposite elbow, but he was muttering to himself and gesticulating with his human hand, and everyone else who passed was giving him a wide berth. Steve called his name, and Bucky's head whipped around and he bolted for Steve.

"What happened?" he demanded, grabbing Steve's arm. "How is he?"

"Hey, Buck, calm down, he's going to be fine, okay?" Steve put his hands on Bucky's shoulders. "Take a couple deep breaths now."

Bucky obeyed, but it didn't seem to do much good. "What happened?" he asked again.

"I don't know, exactly," Steve admitted. "I haven't watched the fight footage yet. It's not that bad, though. Couple of cracked ribs and a concussion is the worst of it." Bucky was frowning at him, so he continued, "There was some internal bleeding, but it stopped on its own. And a couple of broken fingers. He's going to be okay, Bucky."

Bucky chewed on his lip. He pulled away from Steve. "I should've. I. If I'd been there, I could've helped."

"No," Steve said. "You're not cleared for--"

"I could've _helped_ ," Bucky said again, helplessness spiraling toward anger. "Another pair of eyes on the scene, I could have--" He bit off his next words and crouched, grabbing at his hair with both hands. "He shouldn't be hurt."

Steve knelt next to him, put a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "I didn't know you two had gotten close," he said helplessly.

Bucky's whole body rippled in a shiver. "Not... close. Just. He's got no serum. No armor. No magic or-- Why should he go out there, risk everything like that, and I'm safe at home with all _this_?" He yanked at his hair -- the left hand pulled out a few strands -- and then looked down at his hands. "It should have been me."

"No," Steve said firmly. "No, you can't--" He pressed his lips together against the momentary swell of panic at the thought of Bucky back in the line of fire. "It doesn't work like that, Bucky. You know that."

Bucky shrugged, but didn't respond. Steve sighed and pulled him into an awkwardly-balanced hug. "Clint's going to be okay," Steve repeated. "Come on, let's go home. Someone will text us when he wakes up."

They walked, because Bucky apparently still had a lot of nervous energy to burn. Just as they turned down the last street, the tower close enough they'd have to crane their necks to look up at the landing gantry on top and their own building only a few blocks away, Steve's phone buzzed in his pocket.

_Tony: Awake and already trying to sign out AMA_.

Steve showed it to Bucky, hoping to relieve his agitation, then texted back, _maybe tomorrow, if he's good_.

Thirty seconds later, the phone buzzed again. _Clint: fcuk u wat am i lik 6?_

Steve laughed and showed that to Bucky, too, but Bucky only smiled briefly. _you have a 6-yr-old's sense of self-preservation_ , Steve texted back to Clint. _stay put. that's an order_.

Then they were home, so he put the phone away and fished out his keys.

Steve had only stopped by the apartment after the fight to drop off the shield and let Bucky know he was going to sit at the hospital with Clint overnight, so it was with a sigh of relief that he stumbled into the bathroom and started stripping out of his uniform. He straightened from pulling off his boots and nearly startled out of his skin to find Bucky hovering in the doorway. "Bucky? What do you need?"

Bucky shook his head, his eyes on floor. "Do you want me to... help?"

Steve considered it for a moment, but regretfully shook his head. "It sounds good, but I'm so tired, I'd probably fall asleep as soon as I sat down," he admitted, "and I really need a good scrub." Then, eying the way Bucky's shoulders were beginning to hunch, he said, "If you need something to do, you could take care of my stuff."

Bucky hesitated, then gave a nod and a one-shouldered shrug that Steve couldn't altogether interpret. He picked up Steve's jacket and boots and waited while Steve peeled out of the rest of the uniform. As he started to turn away, Steve said, "You okay, Buck?"

Bucky glanced back, meeting Steve's eyes this time. "Take your shower," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."

Steve hesitated, but the warm steam from the shower was curling around him like a siren's song, and Bucky was standing up straight, looking steady if not happy. "Right," Steve said, and stepped into the spray.

Hot showers were, he decided blissfully, one of the greatest and most underrated inventions of modern civilization. He scrubbed out the remnants of the battle and then just leaned against the wall, letting the heat and the gentle pressure of the falling water ease the aches of his bruises and tired muscles.

When the water finally started to turn cold -- and there was an argument for doing post-battle cleanup at Avengers Tower; Tony's industrial water heaters never ran out -- he stepped out of the tub feeling nearly human again, and despite the muggy warmth of the bathroom, more energized than when he'd gone in.

He scrubbed the towel over his head and wrapped it around his hips, and emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam. The apartment air was cool and bracing by contrast, and served to wake him further. "That's a million times better," he sighed. He scrounged up sweatpants and a t-shirt, then went looking for Bucky.

Bucky was in the kitchen, it turned out, already putting together a snack plate that looked like a normal man's Christmas dinner. He looked up as Steve came in, giving Steve a tight smile. "Figured you probably hadn't eaten at the hospital," he said.

"Not enough, anyway," Steve agreed. "Some coffee and doughnuts. Thanks, Buck." He kissed Bucky's temple before opening the fridge for a bottle of water. He took the plate with him into the living room and turned on the television for some mindless background noise while he ate and unwound.

Bucky sat at the kitchen table to clean Steve's boots, and for twenty minutes or so, it was peaceful and calm, the quiet drone of the TV interrupted occasionally by Bucky's lightly disparaging remarks about the state of Steve's boots and Steve's automatically-sarcastic replies.

But when Bucky finished with the boots and set them aside, he didn't join Steve on the couch, or go into one of the bedrooms to rest, even though Steve suspected Bucky had slept even less than Steve had managed. He stood for a time in front of the bookshelf, picking up volumes and perusing a few pages before putting them back. Then he paced over to the window and looked out at the street below, metal fingers tapping an irregular tattoo against the window frame. He walked into the kitchen and got himself a glass of water. He went back to the window, then paced back into his bedroom. He was only gone for a minute before he came back, collected Steve's empty snack plate, and took it to the kitchen. He washed and dried the plate, then went back to the bookshelf to fidget with the knickknacks and bookends.

Finally, Steve sat up and turned to look at him. "Christ, Bucky, do I gotta tie you down?"

Bucky's head jerked around to look at Steve. His eyes were opened wide, his lips parted, his breathing suddenly fast. "God, yes," he breathed.

Steve's mouth fell open in surprise; he hadn't meant it literally, but apparently Bucky was taking it that way. Bucky had been eagerly enthusiastic about it when they'd talked about limits, but Steve had avoided the topic since. Hydra had restrained Bucky all too often; how could it be a good thing, now?

On the other hand, the half-desperate, pleading look on Bucky's face now was not the slightest bit hesitant. Steve reminded himself that he should not be telling Bucky what to feel or how to react -- as Dr. Tranh had told him several times now. If Bucky asked for something, then it was Steve's job to take that request at face value.

Bucky's eyes were flickering over Steve's face, searching. "Please?" he whispered.

Simple restraint wouldn't be damaging, would it? And nothing Steve could improvise with what they had on hand could actually restrain Bucky, anyway; he was more than capable of reducing every piece of furniture in the apartment to splinters in a matter of minutes.

Steve might not entirely understand the desire, but he couldn't think of a good reason to object. Maybe giving it a try would help. He pressed his lips together, plans already constructing themselves behind his eyes, now that his mind was made up. "Fine," he said. He turned off the television and stood, looking around thoughtfully and letting the plans sort themselves out.

He went into the kitchen and grabbed one of the chairs, brought it back into the living room and set it in the center of the floor, pushing the coffee table aside to make room. "Strip down to your shorts and sit," he told Bucky. "I'll be right back."

There were specialized ropes and restraints that could be purchased, Steve knew, but he didn't have any. But he did have a ridiculous collection of silk ties that he never used. Pepper had arranged for them, along with a bewildering assortment of other clothes, when the Avengers had officially become a team. "For public appearances," she'd told him, but it had become clear fairly quickly that what the crowds wanted to see from Steve was nothing more than Captain America, and so the ties (and elegant dress shirts, and suits) had been relegated to the back of the closet for all but the most formal occasions.

Steve grabbed a dozen of the things now, and after a moment's hesitation, a handful of leather belts. He returned to the living room to find that Bucky had followed orders precisely.

His clothes had been left abandoned where they'd fallen on the floor, and Bucky was sitting in the chair. His elbows were on the armrests, but his hands fidgeted in his lap, and one foot was bouncing restlessly. His eyes were fixed on Steve, somewhere between worry and hope, and he was chewing his lip.

"Calm down and sit still," Steve said. He walked a slow circle around the chair, considering its construction -- it was a fairly standard kitchen chair with a ladderback and armrests, which meant there were a lot of thin wooden slats and dowels that would be good for tying. Then he went around again, just because Bucky often seemed to like being made to wait.

Steve stood behind Bucky until he began to shift and fidget again. Steve grabbed a handful of Bucky's hair -- not roughly, but firmly -- and tipped Bucky's head back to look at him. "Sit. Still."

Bucky tried to nod, but Steve kept hold of his hair, so he gasped out, "Yes, sir."

Steve smiled and leaned down to kiss Bucky's forehead before releasing him. "Good." He paced back around to the front of the chair, noting the way Bucky's tension eased. "I'll stay where you can see me once I start," he promised, "or else I'll keep a hand on you so you can feel me. Okay?"

Bucky relaxed a little more. "Ok-- I mean, yes sir."

Steve let the ties slither to the floor in a heap and dropped the belts on top of them, then crouched in front of Bucky. He couldn't resist brushing his knuckles down Bucky's cheek. "You could have asked for that," he chided gently. "You're allowed to -- you _should_ \-- ask for what you need."

Bucky's mouth twisted. "Didn't know I needed it until you said. Wasn't that bad; I'da managed fine." He didn't look like he was fibbing, so Steve just nodded.

He picked up one of the belts and let Bucky see it. "Color?"

"Green."

"Legs first, or arms?"

Bucky looked at the belt and chewed on his lip some more while he considered it. "Le-- no, arms. Arms first. Please." His eyes flickered toward the pile on the floor, then back to Steve's face. "Sir."

Steve didn't let himself smile this time, just nodded. "Arms on the armrests, then. Make it a nice, comfortable pose, because you're going to be in it for a while." As soon as Bucky had curled his fingertips over the ends of the armrests, Steve threaded the belt between Bucky's right bicep and his torso, and then through the slats on the back of the chair, and then went around Bucky's arm and the chairback again before pulling it through the buckle and fastening it. He tested the give -- it wasn't quite as snug as he might have liked, but it wasn't bad for a makeshift restraint -- then looked at Bucky.

Bucky had been watching the process with interest; when he saw Steve look at him, he smiled a little and tugged cautiously against the wrapped leather. "Feels good," he said.

"Didn't ask your opinion," Steve pointed out, but he turned away as he said it so Bucky wouldn't see his smile. He grabbed another belt and began wrapping Bucky's left arm the same way.

Bucky watched that, too. "You're so full of bullshit, Rogers."

"Brat," Steve returned easily, fastening the belt. He picked up a third belt and began winding it around the leg of the chair and over the top of Bucky's knee. Bucky tugged against it as Steve fastened it, and sighed a little when he started to attach the other leg. "Okay?"

"Thought you weren't asking," Bucky teased, but then added, "Yeah, it's good."

This belt was stiffer, not as cooperative. Steve had to unwind it and start over again. "Helping?"

Bucky didn't answer right away, watching until Steve had finished fastening that belt. "I think so," he finally said. He wriggled, pulling against all four restraints. "Feels... if I _can't_ get away, it feels less like I _should_." He grimaced. "Doesn't make sense."

Steve picked up one of the ties and started wrapping it carefully around Bucky's wrist and the arm of the chair, moving slow and smoothing the fabric over Bucky's skin. "Doesn't have to make sense," he said. "Just matters that it's working." The tie wound five or six times around Bucky's wrist and forearm, spiraling lazily upward. Steve didn't bother tying a knot in it, just tucked the end under, and grabbed another tie. "That's what the doctor said, right? As long as it's not bothering anyone, whatever works is what works."

"Yeah." Bucky watched him secure the metal wrist, and then let his head tip back and his eyes fall closed. "Yeah," he said again, with a sigh.

Steve repositioned Bucky's feet slightly and tied his ankles to the chair. Those had to be tied to keep them from unraveling, but Steve kept the knots loose. It was more, he thought, about the sensation than true restraint. Knowing that made it easier. "How's that, Buck?"

"Feels great," Bucky said, not opening his eyes. "More? Please?"

"Yes, if you want," Steve said. "Just checking in. You're not cold or anything?" Bucky shook his head. "Still comfortable?" Bucky nodded, and Steve smiled as he reached for another tie. He started this one just below Bucky's elbow, winding it down toward the wrist, still moving slowly and deliberately. His fingers brushed Bucky's skin as they stroked the silk flat, and Bucky hummed with pleasure.

Instead of moving around to Bucky's left side to do the metal arm this time, Steve leaned across him, pressing lightly against Bucky's right arm and chest. "Stevie," Bucky groaned. He squirmed a little, and then subsided again.

"You okay, Buck? Color check."

"Green as grass. Like your weight on me, is all."

"Okay." Steve finished wrapping the arm. Bucky let out a little noise of protest, not fully voiced, when Steve sat back to examine his work. Bucky's hips were rocking, and the front of his boxers were beginning to tent.

Steve made himself look away and sat in front of Bucky to add another couple of ties to Bucky's legs. He let his hands wander more, though, stroking up to Bucky's thigh and down over Bucky's calves.

By the time Steve was done, Bucky was moaning and squirming in the chair, a damp patch forming at the top of the tent of his shorts. "Steve," he whined. "Please."

"Shh," Steve said. He put his hand over the tie at Bucky's human wrist and stood up. "No sex, not yet." Not while Bucky was tied up, for sure. If -- when -- Steve let sex back into things, he wanted Bucky to be able to touch him.

Bucky's eyes opened and looked at Steve desperately. "C'mon, Stevie, please?"

Steve kept his hand on Bucky's arm, trailing it up as he walked behind the chair, fighting a smile at the way Bucky's neck twisted to keep him in sight. Steve slid his fingers through Bucky's hair, enjoying the silky feel of it for a moment. Then, tightening his grip, he leaned over to kiss Bucky lightly on the lips, pulling Bucky back when he tried to deepen it. "No," Steve said, and hoped it sounded more firm than he felt.

"Not this time." He pulled Bucky's head back a little further, tipping the chair off its front legs to kiss him again.

"No!" Bucky gasped. He flailed, struggling against the bonds and tossing his head. "No, don't-- red, _red_ , Steve, don't--"

"Shit, I'm sorry, Buck, I'm sorry, it's okay!" Steve set the chair back up and quickly knelt at Bucky's side, unfastening the belt on Bucky's good arm, fumbling with suddenly-shaking hands. Bucky's skin had gone pasty-pale and his eyes were so wide they were rimmed in white, staring at something Steve couldn't see. He was trembling all over, his chest heaving as he panted for air.

"I'm sorry, I've got you, you're okay, I promise. Just let me--" The belt fell to the floor with a clank and Steve yanked at the ties, glad he hadn't knotted them, trying to move as fast as he could without hurting Bucky. Finally, the last one fell away.

"Can you get your--" Steve broke off as Bucky's hand and curled around the back of Steve's neck, pulling him close. "Buck?"

Bucky pulled Steve even closer and leaned in to rest his head in the cradle of Steve's neck and shoulder. "'M okay," he mumbled, sounding both embarrassed and close to tears.

Steve hesitated only a moment, then started stroking Bucky's hair soothingly. "Hey, no, it's all right," Steve said softly. "I've got you. Whatever you need, I'm here." He swallowed hard against his own sense of panic. "I've got you, Buck. You're all right."

Steve managed to get both arms around him and Bucky shuddered all over, pushing his face harder into Steve's neck. Steve kissed his temple and sighed. "I'm sorry," he said again, softly. "Can you... can you tell me what went wrong?"

Bucky drew a ragged breath, too deep. "The. When it tipped back. Like the chair in the--" He grated to a stop and let out a sound that tore into Steve's heart.

"Damn it," he growled. "I'm sorry, Bucky, I screwed it up. I'm so sorry."

"Not your fault," Bucky managed, though he was still shivering. "Didn't know."

"Should've asked, though," Steve said, tight with anger at himself. "Bucky, I'm--"

"Stop with the sorry," Bucky grumbled. "Know you didn't mean to."

Steve took a breath, and another. He could still feel Bucky's hand quivering against his neck. "Okay," he said slowly. "No more apologies. But let me finish untying you, is that all right?"

Bucky nodded, and after another few breaths, let go. His eyes were red-rimmed and wet, but his color was beginning to return. Steve untied his legs and then his metal arm, and then stood up to help Bucky to his feet. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

"It's not even lunchtime," Bucky complained, but he clung tightly to Steve's arm.

"Just for a bit," Steve promised. "We could both use a little comfort." Bucky let Steve lead him to Steve's bedroom and tuck them both into the bed, Bucky's head resting on Steve's shoulder, his arm wrapped tightly around Steve's waist and their legs tangled together.

"I'm proud of you," Steve whispered into Bucky's hair.

Bucky twitched. "Didn't do anything," he muttered.

"You did," Steve insisted. "You used your safeword when you needed it. You could've broken free in an instant, but you remembered your word, and you used it, and you--" He paused, briefly overwhelmed, and pressed a kiss to Bucky's hair. "You trusted me," he said hoarsely. "You trusted me to stop and get you out. Buck, that's... that's _everything_."

Bucky's arm tightened around Steve's waist. "Only for you," he whispered.

Steve couldn't be ashamed of the tears filling his eyes. "Then it's a good thing you're mine," he returned.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [everyworldneedslove](http://everyworldneedslove.tumblr.com/)!


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